Claimed Then Cast Aside

The bell above the café door jingled softly as I wiped down the espresso machine. It had been two weeks since the gala. Two weeks since Rafael Wolfhart looked me in the eyes, claimed me as his mate—and then discarded me like I was nothing more than spilled wine on a marble floor.

I hadn’t seen him since.

But I felt him. Every. Damn. Day.

The mate bond was supposed to be a gift. A sacred thread woven by the Moon Goddess herself. But for me, it was a wound that never healed. A quiet ache that pulsed under my skin, just beneath my ribs. A reminder of what could have been—what should have been—if he hadn’t rejected me the moment our bond awakened.

“Earth to Sofia,” Tanya called from across the counter, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “You’re burning the milk.”

I blinked, startled, and quickly pulled the steaming wand away from the metal pitcher. “Sorry.”

“That’s the third time today.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is this about a guy?”

I gave a hollow laugh. “Something like that.”

Tanya raised a brow but didn’t push. She was kind, in her own blunt way, and had taken me under her wing since I started at Brewstone Café. Here, I was just another barista. No one cared that I was Omega. No one whispered behind my back. No one looked at me like I was less.

And yet, I couldn’t escape the thread.

Every time the door opened, my heart stuttered. I caught the scent of pine and winter more than once—only to realize it wasn’t him. A stranger’s cologne. A gust of wind through pine trees. A dream lingering too long after waking.

But never Rafael.

Not really.

Only the ghost of him.

Ethan came in every morning, like clockwork. His presence was a steady balm, his quiet concern never overbearing. He ordered the same drink—black coffee, one sugar—and sat in the same corner booth with a psychology journal or a worn paperback.

Today, he lingered longer than usual.

“Any better?” he asked as I brought over his order.

“Define ‘better,’” I muttered, sliding the cup onto the table and sinking into the seat across from him.

“The dreams?” he prompted.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The dark circles under my eyes spoke for themselves.

“They’re getting worse,” I admitted after a moment. “Last night, I dreamed he was standing at the foot of my bed. Just... watching me. His eyes were glowing.”

“And how did you feel?”

I looked away. “Safe. Angry. Wanting.”

Ethan nodded, not judging. “The bond is still active.”

“I know.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “It’s like I can’t breathe unless I know where he is.”

“Have you considered that he might be feeling the same thing?”

“I don’t care.”

It was a lie. We both knew it.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“No.”

But I did.

I thought about him constantly.

About the way he’d looked at me when the bond snapped into place—like I was air after drowning. About the way his voice had broken when he whispered, “You’re mine.” About the way his hand had trembled when he touched me.

And then... about the way he’d let go.

That was the part that hurt the most.

He’d felt it too. I knew he had. And still, he chose politics. Pride. Veronica Lancaster.

“I hate him,” I said, but my voice cracked.

Ethan didn’t reply. He just sipped his coffee and let the silence stretch.

—

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Again.

The full moon was still a few days away, but the pull between us was building. I could feel it tightening with every hour, like a rope wrapped around my spine. My skin burned. My wolf stirred.

Luna had been quiet since the gala—wounded, like me. But lately, she was growing restless.

He’s calling, she whispered. He can’t ignore us forever.

I pressed a pillow over my face and screamed.

When I finally drifted off, exhaustion pulling me under like a tide, the dream came again.

I was standing in the gallery, wearing a gown I’d never owned. The chandeliers shimmered above me, and Rafael stood at the far end of the room, waiting. His eyes found mine across the crowd.

He held out his hand.

And this time, I didn’t run.

I walked to him.

When our fingertips touched, the entire room vanished. There was only us. Only heat and breath and the bond singing between our skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again.

But this time, I answered.

“I never stopped being.”

I woke with tears on my cheeks and an ache in my chest that no amount of tea or therapy could soothe.

—

Three days later, the full moon rose.

And everything fell apart.

The pain came first—sharp, burning, tearing. I collapsed on the floor of my apartment, clutching my abdomen as if I could hold myself together by sheer will alone.

Luna screamed inside me.

She wanted him.

Needed him.

The bond demanded completion.

Ethan found me like that—half-shifted, trembling, unable to stand.

He didn’t ask questions. Just knelt beside me and offered his presence like an anchor.

“This will pass,” he said gently, brushing the hair from my face. “You’re strong enough. Just hold on.”

I wanted to believe him.

But I could feel Rafael through the bond—restless, pacing, his wolf thrashing beneath his skin. Ares was howling for Luna. And she was howling back.

“We’re going to die like this,” I whispered, half-delirious. “Torn in half.”

“No,” Ethan said firmly. “You’re going to survive this. And then you’re going to decide who you want to be on the other side.”

I closed my eyes, exhausted.

But even in sleep, I dreamed of him.

And I knew—no matter how far I ran, no matter how long I stayed away—part of me would always ache for the wolf who had once said I was his.